Still Waters
by Phx
Summary: Stay away from the water.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own'em and certainly don't make any money from them. The story plot is mine though, as are any original characters, even the ones I kill off._

This story is for Raven524 who 'won' me in a charity auction. Her generosity is responsble for this story so I hope she likes it. The story is three chapters in length: here is the first. Special thanks to Red Hardy and K Hanna Korossy. You gals are wonderful.

**Still Waters**

**Chapter 1**

The creature watched from just beneath the lake's surface, its dark scaly form motionless and invisible against the blackness of the water. Unblinking, it watched, coiled and powerful, as a large black car growled to a stop a few hundred feet from the lake's edge and three people got out: a man and two younger males, _sons_, an enhanced intelligence supplied as it slowly moved closer to the shore, careful not to ripple the water. A flicker of tongue licked at the surface and confirmed what it already knew, the men smelled of the same blood. _Family. _

Watching, it saw two slowly walk towards the water's edge while the third stayed with the car. The one, _father_, was dangerous, casting out the stink of a predator and it almost recoiled and rethought this hunt. Almost. The other two, _older and younger_, were… different.

The _older_ reeked of threat, not as rank as the father, but enough to cast warning to the creature as it watched him for a bit before shifting to the _younger_, the one that stayed further back. The younger was different: the barest whiff of his elders clung to him, lightly basting him in potential, but something else stronger, _sweeter_, tickled its senses and awakened its hunger.

The father was at the water's edge now, within striking distance if the beast wearied of thoughts of self-preservation. But it held back, waited; evolutionary patience practiced.

Another quick flicker of the tongue tasted the air and then the creature sank further beneath the water seeking out the lake's murky depth. The younger would fill its belly tonight.

….

Twenty-year-old Dean Winchester stood on the edge of the large lake and watched his father as the older man crouched down and seemed to almost be reading the water as his dark brown eyes stared out over its expanse. He never tired of watching the man work, endeavoring to take in every lesson he could, even the ones his father never taught.

Something was making people from the local area disappear and the senior Winchester was certain that whatever it was involved this lake. He just wasn't sure exactly what yet as the possibilities were staggering. And after almost a week of driving, research and talking to the townsfolk, they were here, ready to do some actual reconnaissance.

John had hoped to be doing this two days ago but Sam, currently standing by the car with a forlorn look on his face, had come down with a nasty case of food poisoning outside Tucson, Arizona and they were laid up the extra time until puke-boy finished the rounds. Thankfully that part of it was over, but now an unhappy, ill feeling little brother was left behind and as much as Dean pitied him – it sucked to be on a hunt when you weren't feeling exactly up to snuff – leaving Sam behind in the motel room wasn't an option because, well they weren't exactly staying in a motel right now. Funding was low, the weather mild so until John or Dean had a chance to fatten their pockets, the Winchesters would be sleeping at Chez Impala. It wasn't exactly the best of accommodations especially with Sam still doing his 'death warmed over' impersonation, but those extra two nights of sickness just weren't budgeted for. Their father did promise it would only be for a night or two and Dean was hoping, as much for himself as Sam, that the older man was right.

Speaking of Sam…

"Hey, butt-monkey," Dean yelled at his sibling, "get your scrawny ass down here!" Wasn't like people were disappearing in the area or anything… He ignored the daggered look his brother threw him before Sam complied, tramping noisily down towards the water.

One severe look from John lightened Sam's footsteps. They were scoping out the area, after all. Dean didn't miss the aggravated look his father served him either. _Oops, maybe shouting hadn't been the best way to go. _

"What do you see?" the former Marine asked his sons, once Sam stopped next to Dean and followed his brother's gaze across the lake. John was still crouched and didn't seem to address either of them particularly.

"It's too quiet," Sam offered, earning his own scowl from Dean. That was going to be _his_ answer. Now he'd have to go for something better.

"Nothing's moving in the lake." He grinned and side-stepped a half hearted swipe. It wasn't _exactly_ the same thing Sam said, _he'd_ made it more specific. "No ripples, no bugs. Nothing."

"Anything else?" It was hard to tell if their father was pleased or not sometimes.

Sam shrugged. Dean tried a bit harder. "Ah-" he screwed up his face, hating to admit defeat but he wasn't exactly a lake-kinda-boy so he wasn't really sure what he wasn't supposed to be seeing.

"The lake is self contained," John stood up. "There aren't any rivers coming in or out so if there is anything here, it's either very old or-"

"Or it's been put here!" Sam finished finally showing a bit of interest.

"Exactly."

"_Exactly_," Dean parroted, earning him a scowl from his brother and a silencing glare from his father. _Geez. Everyone's a critic. _

"Dean, grab your gear, we're going to check out the area, see if we can find anything that'll help identify what we're dealing with." John was already stalking back towards the car. His sons followed. "Sam, I want you to stay here. Keep an eye out and stay away from the lake."

Sam opened his mouth to protest but his father stopped him with a look.

The fact that the sixteen-year-old only gave a defeated sigh was a testament to just how poorly the kid must still be feeling so Dean being the awesome big brother he was, just had to try and help.

"Look on the bright side, Sammy," he pitched as he took the shotgun his father handed him and pocketed a small walkie-talkie, "could be worse… We could tie a rope around your waist and just toss you in, see who's hungry… Let'em do a little nibbling on your toes." He gave his appalled looking brother his best smile, "Hey, we'd pull you back in before it got _much_ past your toes." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You're gross," petulant little brother grumbled but not before Dean saw the ghost of smile threatening to twitch his lips out of the scowl.

"Dean," John slammed the trunk closed, handed Sam his own walkie-talkie, a crossbow and the keys to the car. "Let's go." Shouldering a small duffle the hunter spoke to his younger son. "We'll check in every half an hour. You don't hear from us, you don't come looking. You drive back to town and call Bobby – he's picking up some scrap about two hours from here and knows we're in the area. You got that?"

Sam nodded but didn't say anything.

"Okay," John hefted the pack a little higher, then continued. "Good. All right, talk to you in thirty." Dean gave his brother a wink and started walking away from the car as his father finished, "oh and Sam. I mean it. Stay away from the water."

"Yes, sir," came a flat reply.

As Dean fell in line behind his father he felt sorry for the kid. This wasn't turning out to be a very good week for Sam and, as much as Dean loved the Winchester-mobile, even he had to admit Impala sitting was boring.

Bottom line? It just sucked being left behind.

….

Sam felt like crap.

Watching until his father and brother disappeared into the dense forest surrounding the lake, the sixteen-year-old sagged back against the car finally giving into just how miserable he really was feeling. His whole body ached; his stomach muscles sore from the retching, his throat hoarse from throwing up, his head still beating time with his heart, and worst of all was how horribly weak he was still feeling. Standing had taken heroic effort, trying to keep up the front of feeling better for his father and brother, beyond exhausting. Now that they were gone though, the teen was ready to stretch out in the backseat of the car and see if he could get a little rest until the first check-in.

But first he did a thorough visual reconnaissance, his weary gaze taking in the eerily placid lake skirted by an almost white pebble beach and lush green trees so dense that it was impossible to see anything past them. He listened as he looked, making himself familiar with the normal sounds of the area, just as his father had taught.

"_Familiarize yourself with how things are supposed to sound," his_ father's words echoed around him, an unexpected nudge of comfort_. "Then listen for what you aren't supposed to hear… Your eyes and your ears will be your two most important weapons. Use them."_

"Yes, sir," Sam's response was automatic, his near whisper, gun-shot loud in the quiet. Finally satisfied with his appraisal and confident that he'd pick it up if anything changed, the young hunter gave in to his recuperating body's need to rest.

Tugging open the backdoor, Sam groaned as he sank down into the vinyl, resting the crossbow and walkie-talkie on the floor and pulling the door closed behind him. God, this felt good… Slowly curling up on his side, his long coltish legs practically drawn up to his chin, the young hunter wearily closed his eyes and let the quiet sounds of the lake lapping at the beach lull him to sleep. He was just so tired.

Something woke Sam and he instantly sat up, adrenaline shoving misery to the back of his mind. One hand reached for the crossbow as he peered through the window and tried to figure out what he'd heard. A large ripple in the water drew his attention to the lake and he slowly opened the door, and stood up.

_Stay away from the water. _

His father's warning rang clear in his mind and he frowned, conflicted between the order and his own curiosity. Something big had disturbed the water. Even now, moments later, water still flicked noisily against the stones.

Indecisive for only a moment, the young hunter spun around and grabbed the walkie-talkie with one hand as the other still held the crossbow loosely against his side. Closing the door with his foot, Sam kept a sharp eye on the lake looking for any darker spots or other tell tale signs of what might have caused the splash. Absently he thumbed the small communicator switch on the side of the hand-held, ready to call his father… but the black water was deceptively placid again. It unsettled him as his instincts screamed something wasn't right.

And then Sam heard something – right behind him!

Whirling around, the cross-bow was up and ready before it even registered that it was another kid, around his age.

"Whoa!" Instantly the other boy's arms were up and he stepped back. Wide eyes in a pale face, framed by a startling mat of black hair, stared in shock from behind thick rimmed glasses. "Holy shit!"

Sam lowered the weapon back to his side, willing his adrenaline pounding heart to calm down. "Sorry," he offered rather lamely. "You scared me."

The kid looked at the crossbow and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. This time Sam only shrugged. What could he say? It was all in how he was raised. "What are you doing out here?" he asked instead.

"I could ask you the same thing," the other teen snorted. "I live around here – can't say the same thing about you though."

"Just passing through-" The sound of another splash interrupted and this time Sam caught the merest glimpse of something large and black. The walkie-talkie was already at his lips when the sound of a click made him freeze.

Turning slowly towards the stranger, Sam felt all the blood drain out of his face as he stared into the business end of a pistol. The kid had pulled a gun on him. He had one thought, _Oh shit. _

…

Reconnaissance was a necessary evil. Definitely not Dean's favorite part of the hunt – no, that was the actual killing part – it was still perhaps one of the most important things that had to be done. Next to the killing, of course.

So as the young man followed his father through the dense brush surrounding the large lake, he tried to keep his mind on the task at hand: - try to determine what was making people go missing - but was failing miserably.

Maybe because he was a bit more worried about leaving his recovering sibling behind, unprotected at the car, than he was willing to admit. Or maybe because he really hated trees. At this point, it was a toss up. But whatever the reason, Dean found his thoughts straying back the way they came instead of surging forward with his father. Which is probably why he ran smack dab into his father's back less than twenty minutes after they'd left Sam.

His father tossed a glare over his shoulder as Dean sheepishly pulled back and made a show of kicking at the ground, as if he'd just stumbled over something. Yeah, as if John Winchester would accept _that_ any better than the idea of his son being distracted on a hunt. But as usual, the older man just knew.

"He's fine."

"Who?" Dean played dumb but didn't miss the eye roll before his father was moving again.

"C'mon, Lefty, we still have ten minutes until check-in time."

Blushing, the younger man fell back in place, at his father's back. "I wasn't worried," he argued, careful to keep his words only whisper loud, knowing the other man would have no trouble hearing him.

"Of course not," John placated and Dean's cheeks turned even brighter red.

"I wasn't," he mumbled petulantly.

"Good." His father was being extremely agreeable.

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. I hear Bloomingdale's is having a sale-"

"Dad!" Dean's indignant cry was cut off when the walkie-talkie chirped. The two men exchanged a glance – Sam was checking in early?

…

Sam kept his finger pressed on the talk button. "You don't want to do this-" he started but one threatening motion with the weapon had him shutting up.

"Drop it."

He hesitated a mere moment, hoping it had been enough to alert his family.

"I won't ask again," the gunman threatened and this time Sam moved to comply. "And the bow," the kid hissed, his twitchiness making this situation even more dangerous. Sam couldn't risk doing something to set the guy off. He just had to stall. "Now, move it." The other kid motioned with the gun again and it took a moment for the young Winchester to realize he was supposed to move backwards towards the water. He balked.

"There's something in the lake."

The kid didn't even flinch. "Move."

"No, I mean it," Sam urged. "There's something big – I don't know what but it made a big splash-"

A warning shot spit up rocks at Sam's feet. Startled, he jumped back. "Hey!"

"I. Said. Move." The gun was leveled on his chest and the young hunter knew that the other teen's next shot would not be so generous.

"Okay, okay," he grumbled, slowly backing towards the lake, his hands held up in supplication. "What's your problem, man? Did I do something to piss you off? Just tell me and I won't do it again." Sam's heart pounded loudly in his chest. His father hadn't taught him how to handle something like this. The things they hunted didn't carry guns.

The edge of the lake loomed closer with each tentative step.

_C'mon, Dad… Dean…_

The guy followed, keeping the distance between them. "It's not personal."

"Not personal?" Sam scoffed. "You're threatening me with a gun. It don't get much more personal than that!"

The water licked the back of his sneakers. _Oh shit._ He stopped, his hands flexed nervously.

Anytime guys…

"If it means anything," the stranger offered. "I am sorry."

And then something huge loomed out of the water behind Sam. Spinning quickly, he stumbled backwards as the monstrous snake-like creature struck, barely missing when he went down on his behind, hard, "Holy shit!"

Scrambling back to his feet, Sam dodged the next attack, his eyes wide with disbelief. It looked like an anaconda, black and scaly, but he'd never heard of one this size. It had to be at least 25 feet long! With chilling comprehension, Sam suddenly understood what had happened to the missing people – what his father was hunting. _This._

"RUN!" the young hunter yelled at the other kid as he dived for the walkie-talkie, frantically trying to think if there was anything in the Impala to help and not willing to see the other kid become lunch, even if the guy had been willing to shoot Sam mere moments ago. His father raised them better than that.

But apparently the other kid's father hadn't.

Again the gun fired.

This time the bullet didn't miss and as Sam was staggered by the pain that burned across his side, the large snake struck, burying its fangs deep into his shoulder and quickly starting to coil itself around the struggling hunter.

"NO!" Sam yelled, his eyes locked on the other kid. "_Please!_" But the shooter just watched impassively.

Fighting hard, Sam tried to escape the growing constriction but the reptile was heavy and held him in a vice-like grip, continually coiling around him until he was completely covered in the undulating mass. Quickly weakening, Sam panicked and started to scream.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who commented - I loved hearing what you think. And again, this is for Raven524 :)

**Still Waters**

**Chapter 2**

"_You don't want to do this…" _and then nothing.

Dean traded a 'what the fuck?' look with his father even as he started to thumb the mike to ask Sam what was up but his father stopped him. His hand, large and cold against Dean's much warmer skin, gripped tightly for a moment – _wait_ – and then let go. John glanced back the way they came, his eyes narrowed as they searched the greenery, his body tense. The muscle in his jaw ticked and then he was moving, fast.

"Dean!" John barked pounding his way through the brush. "Move!" Dean's blood ran cold. His father's instincts were never wrong and if he was hauling ass – the twenty-year-old never finished the thought. He was right behind the older man.

_Jesus, Sammy, what'd you get yourself into this time?_

Limbs scratched and pulled at their clothes as the two hunters tore through, shoving larger branches out of the way, leaping over fallen ones. Everything a blinding blur of brown and green, Sam still too far away.

The sound of a gunshot stole all rationale and Dean pushed on even harder. So did his father.

Sam often bitched about the amount of physical training their father put them through but as the two men burst into a small clearing and pulverized the distance, Dean knew his father hadn't pushed them hard enough. He should be faster than this.

A flock of birds burst out of the bushes ahead of them as the Winchesters closed in on the beach where they'd left Sam. The sound of a second gunshot stopped John. Dean skittered on loose rock to avoid running into the older man and was braced by his father's outstretched arm to keep him from falling, and passing him.

Wordlessly, John held his fingers to his lips and then indicated away from the beach, his dark brown eyes burning instruction into the uncomprehending hazel ones staring back. Understanding danced green across the irises and they widened slightly.

Mutinously, Dean gave him an anxious look but his father shook his head, his mouth thinning in a determined frown and the younger man reluctantly agreed. Without knowing what exactly was happening, they couldn't afford to run in with both barrels blazing. It could cost Sam his life. So John wanted Dean to circle around and come in from the road while he took the direct path down onto the beach. That way they'd have the advantage and possibly trap the problem between them, a rock and a hard place.

But Dean just wanted it to be him who swooped in to the rescue. Superficially so he'd have something else to torment his brother about – _damsel in distress again, huh, Sammy_? _Big brother can't leave you alone for even a minute_ – but in all seriousness because he needed to be the one to make sure the kid was okay and stayed that way. However, when hunting with his father, he had to defer to the older man. Even if it went against everything he was trained to do. _Keep Sammy safe_. More than a directive, it was the pulse in his veins and desire in his soul that went well beyond his father's orders. But Sam was also John's son.

A silent understanding passed between them.

_Save him._

_You know I will._

Then with an aggrieved sigh Dean shouldered his weapon and slipped silently into the trees.

…

John Winchester gave his firstborn a few moments to get into position, than firming his grip on his shotgun trotted down the slight incline and onto the beach, his keen eyes searching for Sam. And then he froze.

There. Barely a couple hundred feet in front of him –

_NO!!_

His mind shut the father part down and it was the hunter that raced dispassionately towards the huge black mass that was, even as John ran towards it, trying to swallow his sixteen-year-old son. Nothing of Sam's upper body was visible as the monstrous mouth slowly worked its way downwards. Thick snake-like coils slowly unwound from the terrifyingly limp body, giving it up to the huge head.

John swallowed back bile._ Oh dear God, please let him still be alive. _"DEAN!" he yelled as he started to empty a clip into the tail end of the creature careful to keep the shot away from Sam, "GET THE AXE!"

"Sam?" the hunter hollered as he got close enough to realize the bullets weren't doing jack shit against the creature. He tossed the gun to the side and yanked a razor sharp knife from his belt. "_Sammy? Hold on son! Hold the fuck on!_" Slashing at the constricting coils, John relished in the well of blood but again it wasn't enough. The beast continued unfazed, its loathsome head swallowing the teenager even deeper. _Shit. Shit. Shit. _

Lunging for his son's long legs, John slashed at the softer side of the creature's mouth as he tried to yank the boy back, kicking at the scaly body that now tried to wind itself around him too. _Where the hell was Dean?_

…

Dean had never seen anything like it. Some big assed snake thingy was trying to deep throat his little brother, but as incredulous as it was, a rush of fear driven anger shoved past his shock and spurred him towards the Impala, his father's shout for an axe grounding his fury. Forcing a steadiness into his hands, Dean used his own set of car keys to unlock it and then reached inside for the heavy bone shattering battle axe – ironically enough one of Sam's favorite weapons – bypassing the pussy tree cutting smaller one. Whirling around, he started back towards his family, freezing when a young guy around his own age with thick black hair and wire rim glasses was standing right in front of him, holding a gun mere inches from Dean's face.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," the hunter huffed out. He didn't have time for this. Without batting an eye at the threat, Dean growled. "Move."

The other guy, with obviously more of a death wish than Dean would have credited him with shook his head, his voice oddly apologetic. "I can't."

Behind them, John struggled against the creature, his grip on Sam slipping, dark coils threading around him.

Dean silently raged. _No. This was __not__ happening._

His family needed him. _Now._ Without warning, Dean struck, swinging the battle axe as he kicked out his leg, counting on the other guy not being as well trained. It didn't take any skill to hold a gun on a fella. The hunter's foot connected hard with the soft middle of the other man, the axe neatly knocking the gun out of his hand as he doubled over right into Dean's swinging fist. TKO, the other man was out cold but Dean wasted no time for victory.

Breaking into a run, he swung the axe back again, throwing his momentum into the swing as he brought the weapon down against the snake. The first blow severed the end of the tail and that was enough to finally get its attention.

….

As soon as Dean struck, John changed tactics. The snake creature had too good a grasp on Sam so it needed to be killed as quickly as possible if they'd have any chance of saving him. And both John and Dean were determined that he was going to be saved.

"Sorry, Sammy," John muttered gruffly as he let go of his son's legs and concentrated his efforts on disemboweling the mammoth snake that was now writhing wildly in a desperate attempt to get back to the water. If it did so, they'd never see Sam again.

"Die you piece of shit!" Dean yelled as he raised the axe again for another devastating blow, and then again, and again, his face was speckled with red, his clothes baptized in blood but still the creature wouldn't let Sam go.

John pulled back the knife and drove it into the snake's belly as hard as he could, morbidly relieved that he could easily see the bulge in the black body and know where Sam was.

Seconds ticked into minutes. Each one a precious loss. How long had Sam been without air now?

As the snake finally started to weaken – _thank God_ – John's mind was already thinking triage. They had to get Sam out and breathing. That was the first priority. What kind of shape the kid was going to be in though was the unseen variable and would be the deciding factor in whether or not he survived. They were at least twenty minutes from the closest hospital.

Broken or cracked ribs were one thing; a crushed chest was another.

Would a Life-Flight be quick enough?

_Oh shit._ As the snake finally released its death grip on Sam, and John and Dean started to carefully pull them apart, the older man realized just how bad this could go. He spared a quick glance at Dean, both heartened and terrified by the resolve he saw there, unsure what would happen if this was beyond their skill.

Then as Sam finally slipped free of the creature's mouth, John stiffened his own resolve. There was no time for doubt, he had a son to save. Hearing a muttered curse coming from next to him, he amended his thoughts. He had two sons to save.

….

The bastard shot Sam.

Oddly enough that was Dean's first thought as he finally got a good look at his younger brother. He fingered the bloody tear in the side of Sam's hoodie, oddly distracted by that injury as his father checked Sam's breathing and searched for a pulse.

It was only a graze but it still drilled fresh anger through Dean. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, his face darkening when he realized the guy he'd knocked out – and most likely culprit for having shot Sam – was gone. He swore revenge and then quickly turned his attention back to his motionless little brother, swallowing back bile when he saw just how bad Sam looked. _Shit, little brother…_

"Dad?"

John ignored him for a moment as he pressed lightly along Sam's chest and then offered Dean a weak smile. "He's breathing."

Dean felt the tension bleed out of his body and he actually sagged for a moment, _thank God_, and then straightened, sensing a 'but'.

"But," his father didn't disappoint. "His ribs are messed up, definitely some cracks, and he should get that stitched," he tipped his head towards the bullet graze even as Dean pressed his hand against the wound to help staunch the bleeding. Thankfully, it wasn't bleeding heavily. "And these."

Dean followed his father's line of vision and then gasped. _Holy shit!_ Sam had two large puncture marks in his shoulder that John was already putting pressure against. _Damn snake thing._ He took a lot more satisfaction in having hacked it to itty bitty pieces now. _That'll teach it to try and make a Sammy snack out of my kid brother. _

"Hospital?" Dean guessed, his free hand reaching out to push the dark, wet – ewww – bangs out his brother's bruised and sickeningly pale face. _Poor kid. And he'd been feeling so crappy to begin with._

His father grimaced but agreed. "Hospital." Stitching could be done in the back of the Impala, but busted ribs weren't anything to be screwed around with. One jagged edge, one wrong move… there were just some things even John Winchester wouldn't leave to chance. Turning his attention back to his son, the man gently thumbed Sam's eyelids. "Sammy?"

Dean watched hopefully. "C'mon, bro," he added, the fingers on his free hand now reaching for his brother's limp hand, then giving it a squeeze, "nappy time's over."

Sam didn't move.

"Sam?" John's tone became more forceful as he carefully shook his son's shoulder. "Sam!"

Still nothing.

Dean turned worried eyes to his father. "Dad?"

John shook his head, "I don't know." And that was a pretty strong admission from the older man. He quickly ran his fingers through Sam's hair and around the back of his head searching for a reason for Sam to still be unconscious and that was when the youngest Winchester groaned softly. The hand Dean was holding – but only in the most manly show of support, of course – twitched. It tightened reflexively for a moment and Dean encouraged, squeezed back.

"That's it, Sammy, c'mon. Open those eyes!"

Sam's face scrunched up like he'd bitten into something sour and then the dark eyelashes fluttered and slowly opened, revealing a brilliant slit of green. And immediately just like that, everything was fine again.

"Sam?" John's voice had his son's eyes slowly tracking towards him. "You with us?"

The teen seemed to take a moment to seriously consider that and then sighed slightly, his face immediately tightening in pain. "Ow," he whispered and Dean barked a laugh.

"_Ow?_ Yeah, bro, I think that pretty much sums things up."

"C-cold," Sam managed as he started to shiver, his teeth chattering. Dean shrugged out of his jacket, careful to keep pressure on the gunshot graze. His father did the same and then used the two to wrap around the shaking teen.

"He's going into shock," John moved quickly as he tied off a handkerchief to keep pressure on Sam's shoulder. Then checked the bullet wound. It had almost stopped bleeding. "Dean, go start the car, turn on the heater. I'll bring Sammy."

Dean hesitated for only a moment, and then scrambled to his feet, grabbed his father's gun, the battle axe and raced back to the car. By the time John got there, the twenty-year-old was sitting in the rear waiting for them. If his father thought that was odd, he didn't say anything, instead just carefully lowered his injured son onto the seat, taking care not to jostle the semi-conscious teen, and cushioned his head on Dean's leg.

The twenty-year-old quickly adjusted the jackets more tightly around his brother as dazed eyes looked up at him and blinked slowly. Poor kid was exhausted. "Geez bro," he murmured softly, no heat in his words, "you trying to set some 'crappy week' record or something?" He sighed and ran his fingers through the damp hair.

Sam turned towards the touch, his eyes closed as he exhaled softly, his words barely audible, "Bite me."

Dean huffed out a small startled laugh then leaned his head back against the seat and finally relaxed as his fingers continued to absently pet his brother's hair. Sam was hurt, obviously, and this had been a way too close call, but right now, with the kid spread out in his lap with enough left in him to still sass Dean, the older brother knew it'd be okay.

His father slid into the front seat and slammed the door shut, he met Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Ready?"

Dean gave a curt nod. More than ready.

…

John shoved the car into gear, stomped on the gas, then slammed on the brakes. There, standing not two feet from the front of the car was a man about John's age with dark black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

A man pointing a gun at the windshield.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to every one who has reviewed. I love hearing what you think about the story. Special thanks to Raven524 and her genorsity in the fic auction, and thank you to Red Hardy, and Kyriebess.

**Still Waters**

**Chapter 3**

"He shot Sam," Dean's voice was flat, his anger hot and scalding. Responding to the tone, Sam whimpered and pressed his face against his brother's stomach, confused and traumatized, and God help him, but Dean wanted that guy dead, even as his arm cinched his little brother closer, careful of his damaged chest. "Shhh," he whispered. "You're okay, Sammy. You're good."

His father didn't respond just glared out the windshield, jaw locked tight, grip, bloodless, on the black steering wheel.

Seconds ticked and then the stranger smiled, cold and apologetic –

John's foot slammed the accelerator as the gun fired, the bullet punching through glass as a ton of black metal dealt out Winchester justice.

A dull thud.

It was over.

"Dean?" his father twisted frantically in his seat, his eyes following the trajectory of the shot, his face paling as he stared at a spot just shy of Dean's right shoulder.

Slowly Dean followed the gaze and then swallowed hard. There, nestled in the seat back a mere inch from being lethal, was a perfectly round bullet hole.

"Holy shit," he breathed out, his body trembling. "Holy. Shit."

"You okay?" John barked already shoving open the driver's side door. Dean stared at the near miss. Sure he'd been almost killed on a hunt before but this was – was… _Holy shit._ "What about Sammy?"

That got Dean's attention. He looked down at his injured sibling, loosening the death grip he'd had on the kid when the car braked, and gave a quick nod. "He's fine." He tried to ignore the damaged seat. "We're both fine."

"Good."

Dean watched his father crouch down at the front of the car torn between watching his father's back or staying to protect his brother. However if John needed him Dean would know and leaving an injured Sam went against basic programming.

John stood up slowly and turned to look at Dean. An unreadable look filtered across his face and then he glanced at the ground again.

"Dad?" unease prickled at the back of Dean's neck.

"Damn," John ignored him and got back in the car. He looked over his shoulder as he backed up, spun the car around and hurried away from the lake.

Dean tried to look, but a gruff, "Leave it," had him firmly facing forward again, his little brother limp in his lap. He winced at the damaged windshield. As if reading his thoughts, his father growled, "Gonna need new glass." He glanced at Dean through the mirror, "When I get to the hospital, you take Sam in and get him looked at." Before the younger man could ask, his father added, "Tell'em the kid had a pet boa, it got the upper hand." Sammy finally got a pet. Cool.

"Yes, sir." It'd work. Exotic pets were always a good old standby for explaining odd injuries.

"I'm going to call Bobby, see if he can help me with the cleanup."

Dean wanted to ask but soft panting drew his attention to more pressing matters. Broken or cracked ribs were a bitch. "Sammy?" he leaned over his brother anxious at his obvious distress.

"Hurts," came a soft whisper and Dean felt his stomach lurch. He hated hearing his brother in pain.

"I bet, bro," he murmured softly, briefly meeting his father's eyes again.

"Ten minutes, Sammy," John offered, his voice rough. "Just hang in there, son."

"Y'sir." Sam slurred a response then went limp again. Dean checked the bandages then willed the hospital closer.

…

"Any ideas?" John Winchester asked a grizzled and tired looking Bobby Singer as the two stood shoulder to shoulder and stared into the large bonfire on the beach. Leaving his boys at the emergency room had been hard but the bodies had to be dealt with quickly before any wandering locals happened on them. Luckily enough there was just enough bad karma around the lake that few people actually went there anymore but now that the beast and its accomplice were dead, that might change. Eventually. And no matter how much it tore him up to drive away he trusted Dean to make sure Sammy was taken care of and that the authorities bought the story. Damn but that boy was a convincing liar. Shaking his head with fondness, he watched as Bobby took off his hat and scratched at the top of his head with dirty fingers.

"I dunno," the more experienced hunter admitted, "You say this guy pulled a gun on Dean and you... it was the same guy? But different? Different _ages_?"

John nodded his head. "Dean's age, then mine."

"Did Sammy see him?"

"Not sure yet."

Bobby nodded in understanding. Sam's coherency had been minimal at best.

The image of the large snake swallowing his son darkened John's face. That was something he'd be seeing in his nightmares for a long time. Dean's too, he more than suspected.

"Then when you killed it?"

"Just what you saw," John gestured vaguely towards the burning carcasses. Thankfully they were going up fast. "A smaller version of _that_ thing." It still unsettled him, and this whole hunt would go into his journal as one of the more terrifying and bizarre ones. He'd felt the car hit the gunman but instead of a body mangled beneath the wheels, he'd found a creature, a smaller snake like thing, a bloody smear on the road. Unsettled, John had rushed his family away, unprepared for questions he couldn't yet answer. He'd needed time to regroup and call Bobby, hoping his old friend and hunting icon could make sense of this.

Frowning, Bobby put the cap back on his head and turned to John. "A shape-shifter of some sort then, your gunman at least... Maybe aging to look less threatening? Most people trust other people their own age. Gotta find out if Sam saw it and if he did, how old it looked then…"

"Might explain how he got the drop on Sam too, that and the gun. He wouldn't have his guard up around another kid," John's gaze roved over the still lake, "I told him to stay away from the water… something convinced him otherwise." He considered what Bobby said. "Didn't need silver to kill it though," John mused, suddenly feeling incredibly old. "And that thing…" he indicated the monstrous snake again with a dismissive wave just as the mutilated body collapsed in on itself. "Bullets didn't do shit against it, we literally had to carve that sonnavabitch up to get to Sam."

"So all things considered, rather an easy kill, a quick hunt then. No special bullets, chants, herbs just a large enough knife, car… Good things to know but as to what it is, John, I'm stumped. I've never heard of anything like this before… We don't even know if we're dealing with a natural abnormality and a supernatural one that somehow got connected, like a shape-shifter and his really large pet, or one really messed up supernatural thing that has the ability to function as two different entities." Bobby grimaced as John shivered at the thought. "Hell for that matter, it could be a dinosaur and groupie. I'll put out some feelers when I get back and see… but I'm not too optimistic on it. I think that this, whatever it is, is new."

"Oh lovely," John snorted. "Just what we need, supernatural evolution."

Bobby shrugged. There really wasn't anything he could say. Sometimes an unknown was an unknown. "Hey," he asked after a moment, "You boys coming down my way for a few days when Sam gets out?" he continued on before John could protest, "I've got a windshield out back should fit the car."

John turned back towards the car. He'd forgotten about the windshield and hadn't even expected to be finished this job for another couple of days at least… A small smile twisted his lips, it _would_ save them sleeping in the now air-conditioned car, give Sam a proper place to heal, and his sons loved Bobby's old junkyard, considering 'Uncle Bobby's' as a second home. Or perhaps for Sam, a first one. The thought saddened him and he sighed heavily. Damn that demon to hell. "Yeah," he nodded, "that would be great."

"Well good," Bobby briefly clasped a hand on John's shoulder before moving towards the road where his truck and the car waited.

"One thing really bugs me about all this though," the younger man commented as he matched his friend's stride.

"Only one?" Bobby challenged.

John ignored him. "What the hell happened to the guy's clothes?"

.…

"I din wan go n'r the wat'r," Sam's words, slurred and soft, startled Dean.

"Huh?" After stunning the small town emergency room with a sordid tale of teenage boys and beloved pets gone wild, Sam had been rushed off to x-ray and had both the bullet wound and the gaping fang holes in his shoulder stitched before being settled in a quiet end of the triage ward where'd he been sedated with a concoction of pain killers and antibiotics, and left on a saline drip to combat a mild case of dehydration, courtesy of the food poisoning the poor kid was still recovering from.

Dean himself had been sent to the nearest bathroom to clean up and change into the spare clothes his father had tossed at him before taking off. Staff bought the story about him bravely disembowling his brother's 'pet' to save Sam's life, having no idea just how close to the truth it was. The only sting to his noble tale was having to take the blame for the bullet graze. It was easier to say Dean had nicked his brother in an ill fated attempt to shoot the 'pet' than explain an accomplice who looked eerily enough like a fantastical wizard.

"The wawa," the sixteen-year-old licked his lips and tried again, his eyes still closed although he was obviously awake, "Water. I din wanna go near it."

"That's good," Dean started slowly as he leaned forward in the hardback chair he was sitting in and stared into the still too pale face, watching as his brother's brow furrowed for a moment and then smoothed out. "Since dad told you not to."

Sam finally opened his eyes; they were dull and slightly gazed. His brother had been given very good drugs. "Hadda gun."

Suddenly the picture of what happened slid in place and Dean just felt sick, his own run in with the stranger adding vivid color. "Let me guess," he saved his brother trying to get it all out even as he grabbed the glass of cold water the nurse had left for Sam and held the straw to the teen's mouth so he could take a sip. "Weirdo guy with glasses and gun showed up?"

Sam swallowed slowly and then released the straw. It was obvious that he wasn't fully with it. As Dean put the glass back down on the rollaway tray the kid exhaled, "Yeah…" Eyes blinking lazily, the teen stared up at the ceiling as his good hand slowly moved towards his injured shoulder.

"Hey stop that." Dean grabbed the hand when Sam plucked at the bandages and gently moved it lower to rest against the kid's abdomen. "Doc's gonna be pissed if you mess up all his good work."

The younger hunter gingerly rolled his head towards his brother, a confused look on his face. Dean eyed him critically. "What else do you remember?"

For a moment Sam didn't say anything and then he bolted up in bed, crying out in pain as he tried to curl in on himself. "Snake," he gasped, "Big."

Dean grabbed him, careful of the arm cinched close to Sam's chest keeping it immobile. "Whoa! Easy there, Sammy," he soothed, "Not so fast. You've got a couple of cracked ribs."

Groaning, Sam was gently man-handled back against the bed. "Only a couple?" he gasped again, as a pain torn tear scalded his cheek. "I hate this."

"Can't say I'm too crazy about this either, dude," the twenty-year-old admitted as he sat back down in his chair.

Sam huffed and then winced. Yup, that would hurt for a while. Kid's chest was a mess of spectacular bruising.

Dean frowned and reached for the call button. He should let the staff know Sam was awake. "So, weirdo guy and a big snake. I'd say you got the important parts." If his brother didn't remember almost being a tasty treat Dean wasn't in a hurry to remind him. Someone should be spared remembering that.

"What else?" But Sam never was one to just let things go…

"What else what?" John Winchester arrived in the nick of time and Dean had never been so happy to see him knowing that once his father knew Sam's memory wasn't complete, he'd spare the kid as well. If Sam didn't remember, why let his over active imagination make it up? Junior had more than his fair share of nightmares as it was. They'd saved him, that was all he needed to know.

"Sam was just asking what happened," Dean supplied with an over achieving smile. "He remembers the guy with the gun, who just happened to be a hormone-raging teen like Sammy here." Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother weakly raise his good hand and give him a one-fingered salute. John raised an eyebrow but let it go, "– and what exactly is up with that anyways? Are there three guys or one seriously quick aging dude? And then a big snake. Nothing else."

His father seemed to take a moment to process that and then nodded, leaning forward so his hands rested on the foot of the bed. "Bobby has a theory on that. He thinks it was some kind of shifter that was aging itself similar to its victim-"

"So it's not so threatening," Sam sighed out. The kid might be muddled and hurting but he wasn't out of the game.

_That's __my__ bro_, Dean silently crowed.

"Sorry, Dad," the sixteen-year-old continued, "I let'em get the drop on me."

Dean looked at his father. John sighed, and rubbed at the side of his head like he was getting a massive headache. "I highly doubt that, Sammy," he finally said and then patted Sam's foot lightly before straightening up. "Get some rest, son. I'm going to see what I can do about getting you out of here."

The brothers exchanged a look, neither overly excited about spending the night in the Impala especially with Sam hurting the way he was; it was bad enough when the kid was just puke-boy. It might actually be better to let the teen spend the night in the hospital this once, but just as Dean opened his mouth to voice that exact thought, his father added, "You can drop the dog faces. We're going to Bobby's."

And no sweeter words had ever been spoken.

…

Sam's eyes were closed before his father had left the room and his brother settled in the horrid chair next to his bed. It never occurred to him that Dean would be anywhere else. He heard a tired sigh and the sound of paper rustling. His brother had obviously pilfered a magazine from somewhere.

Sleep tugged at his consciousness but Sam couldn't let go yet. There was still one more thing to check out. "Hey, Dean?"

Denim shifted against plastic and he heard his brother sigh. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" Sam forced leaden lids open, each word was work, a drug thick tongue moving in a mouth full of cotton, but this was important. "You and Dad?"

"What? Us? We're good. We're fine." Dean seemed surprised, and then suspicious. "Why?"

Sam just stared dully at his older brother. Did he really need a reason to ask? But then, in a once again amazing demonstration of just how eerily in tune Dean was to him, the twenty-year-old rolled his eyes and huffed out. "Yeah. Yeah. I know. Like you need a reason…" With a flourish he opened the magazine – _MAD?_ – and held it directly in front of his face mumbling something about "Emo bitches" and "little brother's worrying about the wrong things" and Sam grinned finally letting himself answer the call of darkness and knowing that hidden behind those pages his big brother was grinning at him.

And God help him, but that made everything all right…

His last conscious moment was a whispered, "Jerk," and then Dean's snorted chuckle followed him down.

The End


End file.
